


We Always Crash and Burn

by withthekeyisking



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Biting, Bottom Jason Todd, Choking, Come Eating, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Creampie, Face-Fucking, Facials, Gun Kink, Gunplay, Light Masochism, M/M, Rimming, Spit As Lube, Top Dick Grayson, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28425051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/pseuds/withthekeyisking
Summary: Dick and Jason have been ‘together’ for a while now, but neither of them would call what they havehealthy.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 14
Kudos: 107
Collections: Batfam Kinkmas Exchange 2020





	We Always Crash and Burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AuroraKant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraKant/gifts).



> A Kinkmas treat for you, Aurora!

It always starts like this.

The pair of them on a rooftop, breathing heavily, a little bloody, a lot bruised. There's disdain in Jason's eyes, a deep loathing, and Dick feels a similar ache deep in his chest.

He doesn't even remember what started this latest fight, actually; maybe he interrupted Jason before he could finish a job, maybe Jason got in the way of one of Dick's cases—it doesn't much matter, really. They'll always end up here, whether or not it starts out in the field. The rage of a fight only speeds matters up.

Jason drags his fist across his face, smearing away the blood that drips from his split lip. It reddens his teeth, making him look violent and deadly and _feral._ It stirs something in Dick's gut.

They've reached a precipice, a point where Dick knows he could diffuse the situation, could have them both walk away from here without any more injuries than they already possess. He could go home, back to his apartment, get a full night's rest before work in the morning. He has a full caseload, and sleep would do him well.

But he...doesn't want to.

"Had enough?" he taunts instead of saying something soothing. Jason's gloves creak as they clench into tighter fists. "The big bad Red Hood, can't even handle a single fight with—"

That's enough to do it. Jason darts forward again, and Dick is ready for him, dodging the fist that flies towards his face. He blocks the second, throwing one of his own in reply, and the third strike Jason sends out hits his side and makes him grunt, muscles spasming.

And so they're off again, trading blows, clashing again and again, beating each other bloody, not holding back. They never can, never have been able to; that's not how they work.

Dick hits Jason with one of his escrima sticks and electrifies it, drawing a breathless noise out of the younger man as his body seizes. Dick switches it off before any real damage can be done, and then yelps as Jason recovers faster than expected and whips the back of his hand across Dick's face.

The hit is hard enough to send Dick stumbling, and he turns to right himself, but Jason presses the advantage, catching one of his legs with his own and sending Dick crashing to the ground, immediately following him down.

Jason straddles Dick's waist and hits him again, making Dick's head spin as it snaps to the side. He wraps his legs around Jason's hips and wrenches, flipping them and putting him on top of Jason. He strikes at Jason's neck with the side of his hand, making him wheeze and work to suck in air, but before Dick can do anything else there's the press of metal against the side of his throat.

The gun's muzzle is warm, recently fired. Dick's gut clenches.

He holds deathly still as Jason drags the gun up the line of his neck, pressing in hard enough to hurt just a little. Jason's eyes are locked onto his, vivid green and pupils blown, his chest heaving under the force of his breaths. Dick knows he's in no better shape.

The gun settles on the underside of his jaw and pushes his head up, forcing his neck into a near-painful arch. Dick allows himself to be moved, breath straining, imagining that the safety is off and the gun loaded and Jason holds his life in his hands right in this moment. That with one twitch of his finger he could end Dick, just like that. No warning, no goodbye, just _the end._

It is _definitely_ loaded. Whether or not the safety is off...

Well, it's just as likely as anything else. Dick wouldn't put it past Jason, and Jason knows Dick too well to hold back.

"It would be so easy," Jason says lowly, voicing the exact thought in Dick's brain. He digs the muzzle in harder, and Dick swallows as he imagines the bruise that will linger later, one more mark left by his most recent encounter with Jason. "No more Golden Boy."

Dick hates that 'title' and Jason knows it, uses it like a weapon, a slow smirk coming over his features as he watches Dick's eyes narrow.

Dick opens his mouth to spit something scathing back, but Jason doesn't give him the opportunity, moving lightning-fast and shoving the barrel of the gun into Dick's mouth, the muzzle poking at the back of his throat and making him gag.

His eyes water, his teeth clack painfully against the unyielding metal. Jason doesn't let up, pushing further, unforgiving, his eyes half-lidded as he watches. Dick shudders, thighs clenching around Jason's waist, fighting down his gag reflex and letting Jason force his gun down his throat.

The trigger guard presses against his lips, digging brutally into a cut left there earlier by the kiss of Jason's fist, and a tear manages to slip from his eye and down his cheek from the pain.

Jason surges up, wrapping his free arm around Dick's lower back and tugging him impossibly closer. Dick grips at Jason's shoulders, digging his fingers in, wishing the younger man could feel the bite of his nails through the leather jacket.

He holds the eye contact as he closes his lips around the gun, sucking on it and producing an obscene wet noise. Jason's eyes spark, and he thrusts the gun deeper, harder, grinding up against Dick as he does so. The metal in his mouth is firm and unyielding and unforgiving, just like its owner, and Dick does nothing to stop it as Jason fucks it in and out of his throat, motions speeding up along with his breathing.

When Jason's movements begin to feel desperate, when the younger man's breath begins to hitch on each drag, his hips jerking wildly, Dick slaps him hard across the face. Jason gasps, startled, blinking rapidly, and Dick uses his disorientation to remove the gun from his mouth and climb to his feet, dragging Jason up with him.

Together they stumble to the edge of the roof, and drop down onto the fire escape. They walk down a flight and then slip in through the window of the waiting safehouse, neither of them acknowledging the fact that their fight 'coincidentally' brought them to the rooftop of a waiting apartment.

The instant the window is shut behind them, they're on each other again, ripping at clothing without a care for the rough nature of their actions. Jason's jacket ends up somewhere in the living room, his pants somewhere in the kitchen, Dick's suit discarded in the hall on the way to the bedroom.

By the time they reach the bed and crash down onto it, the last of their clothing has been tossed to the floor.

They thrust against each other, hands sliding over skin, gripping at arms and thighs and asses, bruising in their intensity. Jason grabs a fistful of Dick's hair and yanks, drawing a hiss out of him, the sound turning sharper when Jason digs his teeth into his neck. It hurts, and Dick rakes his nails down Jason's back in retaliation, delighting in the harsh breath that pulls from the younger man.

He pushes Jason off of him, dodging Jason's reaching arm trying to keep him underneath, and layers himself against Jason's back, kissing the nape of his neck and grinding against his ass. He's so hard it almost hurts, his entire body alight with desire and the need to be inside of Jason.

He doesn't know if this place is outfitted with any of the essentials, and frankly he doesn't care. Instead, he takes advantage of Jason's open mouth, pliant under the force of his breathing, and sticks his fingers inside, pushing them as far as they will go like Jason did with the gun.

Jason gags momentarily, green eyes flicking up heatedly to meet Dick's gaze. He closes his lips around Dick's fingers, and there's the faintest graze of teeth, like Jason is considering biting down. That would surely hurt like a bitch, if he were to go through with it; Dick's blood is already pounding faster at the idea of it, at what he must surely do in retaliation if Jason were to bite.

Dick doesn't consider himself a masochist, and he knows Jason doesn't think of himself that way, either. And yet they always do it, always hurt each other and egg each other on to do the hurting. They always encourage the pain mixed in with the pleasure. They always punch and bite and hit, never satisfied until they're both bloody and exhausted and covered in marks.

He doesn't know why they're like this. Why they can't _try_ for something normal, something _healthy._ He doesn't know why he and Jason are incapable of going on regular dates, of having sex that doesn't end in tears and empty sides of the bed. Doesn't know why neither of them can start anything with the other unless a punch has first been thrown.

But here they are anyway, same as they always are, no signs of it changing any time soon.

If Dick were to gentle, if he were to search for a bottle of lube and take his time opening Jason on finger by finger, make sure there wouldn't be a lick of pain by the time he pushed inside—well, Jason would surely look at him like he was mad, and then take matters into his own hands.

And Dick, if the situation were reversed, would do the same.

Jason apparently decides against biting, maybe figuring that would only hinder the process in the long run. Instead he swirls his tongue around Dick's fingers, lavishes them with attention, gets them as wet as he possibly can.

Arousal stirs in Dick's gut at the feeling, remembering the last time he put Jason's tongue to use, how pretty he looked on his knees, Dick's hand wrapped around his throat.

He shakes himself from the memory and pulls his fingers out, shifting to kneel between Jason's thighs, forcing his legs apart. Jason grunts at the rough touch but voices no actual complaints, nor does he make any attempt to fight when Dick takes his ass in his hands and squeezes, enjoying the feeling of the firm muscle as he pulls the cheeks apart, forcing a finger inside of Jason's hole.

He's tight and hot and dry, the spit helping to ease the way just a little. Jason's eyes are pinched, but it's the way he's biting his lip that has Dick's attention, thrusting his finger in and out just to watch that lip redden, the split on the side vibrant and bloody. Jason barely even seems to notice, his gaze fixed burningly on Dick's face.

"You gonna just sit there all day?" Jason grunts. "Or are you actually gonna fucking _do_ something? Christ, Grayson, I'm not made of glass; just put it in already."

With anyone else, Dick might argue that Jason is nowhere close to prepared, that one finger with a touch of spit does not proper preparation make, and they'd both be better off if Dick had a minute to actually work him open, minimal spit or not.

But this isn't anyone else, this is Jason. And Jason isn't kidding when he goads Dick to get on with it; he knows this will hurt, knows it will hurt _both_ of them. He knows that this has been shit prep, and the burn is going to _suck,_ especially for him. But that's where they always go, isn't it? They always take the road most painful. They can never be easy.

Jason _wants_ the pain that's about to come. Same way he knows Dick wants it, too.

Dick considers, sometimes, that they really ought to see a therapist, or something.

But, then again, they're _Bats,_ and Bats don't go to therapy. They're all _fine._

So, Dick does as requested. He removes his finger, grumbling, "Sorry, Princess, didn't realize you were so desperate for my cock." He spits on his hand, rubs it over his cock.

Jason's eyes narrow, his teeth bare, fury clear.

Dick lines up and begins pushing inside before he can say anything scathing in reply.

It burns, as Dick knew it would. It's too dry, too much friction, almost painfully tight. And he knows what he's feeling must be _nothing_ compared to what Jason is, but the man underneath him doesn't make a single sound, instead releasing a slow breath from behind clenched teeth, eyes squeezing shut.

He's trembling, faintly. Dick has just enough decency not to mention it.

When Dick is finally all the way inside, he takes a moment to just breathe, air coming roughly in and out. His body aches from their fight before, arms shaking slightly from holding himself up over Jason.

But despite all the pain, Jason feels fucking _divine_ around him. Too tight and too dry, yes, but it doesn't matter, it never matters, because it's _Jason._ The pain is just a side effect of being together.

He begins to move, starting with small, rocking tests of his hips that draw the first noise out of Jason, the younger man wheezing, locking his jaw tight against the sound. But Dick wants to hear it again, wants to hear it and so many others, so he keeps going, allowing himself to pick up speed. He shuffles up further on his knees, hiking up Jason's hips, and fucks roughly into him, one hand bracing on his shoulder for leverage, the other clamping down on his hip.

The noises begin to escape Jason without control, picking up in frequency and then volume, and Dick soaks them all in desperately, his mind going hazy with lust, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling his ears alongside Jason's groans and moans and whines.

There must be some tearing, at some point, for the slide gets just the slightest bit easier with sudden wetness. Jason simply moans beneath him, clenching down, so Dick doesn't stop, snapping his hips forward again and again. He presses his fingers into already forming bruises, leans down and licks up the sweat dripping down his back, worries hickies into Jason's neck with his teeth.

All of it is thrilling, so thrilling. And when one of Jason's arms reaches back and cups the nape of Dick's neck, digging his nails into the skin and pulling him more firmly on top of him, Dick feels like maybe he's died and gone to Heaven.

Or maybe Hell.

He comes deep inside of Jason, and keeps fucking through his orgasm, not stopping until he's spent and beginning to tingle with oversensitivity. Only then does he pull out, slowly, watching some of his come dribble out of Jason's ass.

His head feels afloat, and it spins when Jason suddenly flips them, Dick not at all prepared for the sudden action. He blinks owlishly up at Jason as the younger man climbs up his body, legs moving to either side of his neck. A hand, large and calloused, slides through his hair and then grips tightly, forcing his head firmly against the mattress, not allowing him to move.

"What—?" Dick begins, still feeling a little out of it, and Jason smirks down at him, green eyes near glowing in the low light.

He doesn't say a word, instead lowering himself onto Dick's face, grinding his ass against his mouth. Dick gasps, surprised, and tastes his own come drip into his mouth.

"C'mon," Jason grunts. "I didn't fucking come yet, _Dick._ Get with the program."

Dick gets with the program.

He grips at Jason's thighs, thrusting his tongue up into Jason's ass enthusiastically. There's something pleasing about this, about tasting the signs of his own success, of licking his own cum out of his partner's ass, of working to draw an orgasm out of him. Delighting in the moans he manages to force from Jason's throat.

And Jason keeps him very firmly in place, his bulk and grip easily controlling any attempts of Dick's to surge upward. It has Dick's heart beating faster, the helplessness of the situation hitting him hard. The fact that he can only get the barest strain of air, getting more and more lightheaded with every moment that passes. How Jason doesn't bother to give him any room to breathe, grinding down against him and seeking his own pleasure.

He hears the slap of skin on skin as Jason begins to beat himself off, and only then is the younger man pulling back slightly, just enough for his cum to paint Dick's face and hair, streaking his cheeks and spilling into his open mouth. Jason strokes himself through it, and then leans down and kisses Dick firmly, digging his teeth into the cut on Dick's lip.

Dick does the same to Jason's own.

The kiss breaks eventually, and Jason collapses onto the bed beside him, both of them breathing heavily, slightly dazed, coming down.

He sees Jason reach down between his legs and then look at his fingers. Sees the faintly pink-tinged white, and the uncaring way Jason looks at it. It must hurt, Dick imagines, but Jason isn't showing it. Dick isn't surprised; why admit to such a weakness, even after they're done? Dick isn't ever any better, when he's on the receiving end. Everything is done and they should be able to relax, but—

But they don't.

Dick gives himself another twenty seconds, and then forces himself into an upright position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Jason moves almost in tandem with him, rolling over to the other side and slowly rising to his feet, cracking his back, a faint wince escaping him.

Dick grabs some of the tissues from the nightstand and wipes his face off, grimacing as he realizes he's going to have to wash his hair to get the rest out. Not that a shower wasn't already in his future, of course; after the long night he's had, he's turning the water on as hot as it will go and not moving for a long, _long_ time.

He yanks his underwear on and gets to his feet, glancing over at Jason to see that he's done the same. Jason makes the first move, heading out of the bedroom and down the hall to fetch the rest of his clothes from where they've been dropped, grabbing his boots and socks along the way.

Dick follows suit. Both of them are silent.

When they're both completely dressed, they stand in the living room and just look at each other for a moment. Dick has the urge, however small, to kiss him. Not passionate and harsh like before, but to just brush his lips against Jason's, to feel the easy press of their bodies together without any grabbing or forcefulness. He has the urge, however small, to find a way to bridge the gap between them, to mend whatever's so broken.

But this isn't the time nor the place. It never is.

Dick watches Jason climb out the window with barely a hitch to his step, the younger man offering a sloppy salute before disappearing off into the night.

They'll see each other tomorrow for family dinner night, and they'll both pretend everything is normal and fine because they're Bats and that's what they do.

And because they're Jason and Dick and they find themselves incapable of doing anything else.


End file.
